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DISCOURSE, 

DELIVERED 

NOVEMBER 17, 1847 r 

AT THE INTERMENT 

OF THE 

HON. BENJAMIN SWIFT, 

Late C. S. Senator from the State of Vermont; 
BY WORTHINGTON SMITH, D. D., 

PASTOR OF THE FIRST CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH 
IN ST. ALBANS, VERMONT. 



PUBLISHED BY REQUEST. 



ST. ALBANS, VT. : 

PRINTED BY E. B. WH1TTNG 

1848. 






<£$', 



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DISCOURSE. 



Beloved, now are we the sons op God, and it dotk 
not yet appear what we shall be; but we know 
that, when he shall appear, we shall be like him j 
jfor we shall see him as he is. 

1st John, III, 2. 

In this passage, the apostle not only reminds us 
of the high and honorable distinction conferred on 
believers in the present life, but indicates, also, 
the far more exalted state of excellence and glory 
which is prepared for them, and to which they are 
encouraged to aspire. Even now 1 while beset 
with infirmities and, it may be, oppressed with trials 
and sorrows, they are known on high as " the sons of 
God j" and are assured that hereafter, in ' the glori- 
ous appearing of the great God — even our Saviour 
Jesus Christ,' they " shall be like Him, for they 
shall see Him as He is." 

Grace, contemplated as the germ of a new, spir- 
itual life in the soul, is, in its development and 
fruits, progressive. Like that creative power by 
which man becomes a living soul, its force is not all 



spent in a single exertion, nor its highest results re- 
alized at once. The human Mind no sooner awak- 
ens into life than it takes its place in the high order 
of being to which it belongs. Yet how feeble are 
its powers when first brought into action 5 how in- 
distinct and dubious its self-consciousness j how in- 
adequate and confused its perceptions of outward 
objects I But the life, that has been given, is never 
to be extinguished: and the soul, enlarging and 
perfecting itself by a ceaseless growth in energy 
and knowledge, shall survive all the changes of 
time and live on forever. 

Under a like progressive aspect does the text 
exhibit the workings of that mysterious power, by 
which a new and divine life is imparted to the 
soul. The first manifestation of this power is in a 
life — the 'life of God' in the soul: and the first fruit 
it yields appears in the new r relations to God into 
which the soul — once a stranger and an alien — is 
now introduced. " Beloved, now are we the sons 
of God." So much has grace achieved for us. It 
has 'opened the eyes of our understandings' to ap- 
prehend, and endued our hearts with an affinity 
for divine things } it has impressed on our minds 
the image of the heavenly, and asserted for us a 
place among the sons and daughters of the Lord 
Almighty. u Now are we the sons of God." 

But the privileges of sonship are not all, of ne- 
cessity, a matter of present possession and enjoy- 
ment ) indeed, for the most part they are objects of 
^expectancy — things to be waited for. x Now T say, 



that the heir, as long as he is a child; diffefeth nolh- 
ing from a servant, though lie be lord of all ; but is 
under tutors and governors until the time appoint- 
ed of the father.' Hence the apostle adds in the 
text — "and it doth not yet appear what we shall 
be." The privileges of sonship, so far from being 
all realized in 'the life that now is, 1 are in fact be- 
yond our present knowledge and apprehension. — 
There is progression here as in other of the works 
and gifts of God. A glorious beginning is made 
when the soul awakes to the life of God, receives 
the spirit of adoption, and feels c the love of God 
shed abroad in the heart by the Holy Ghost; 1 but 
(here arc new treasures of grace and glory yet to 
be unsealed — heights and depths of experience in 
the things of God which the thought of man is yet 
unable to explore, and which the spirit, of God has 
not seen fit to utter. " It doth not yet appear what 
we shall be" — the heart of man has not conceived 
it, the word of God has not announced it. The 
glorified state of the sons of God, is a subject which, 
in many respects, still awaits a revelation. " But," 
proceeds the apostle, " one thing we do know, that, 
when He shall appear, we shall be like Him ; for we 
shall sec Him as He is." This is a truth that has 
been made to appear; and it is one, which, in the 
judgment of the apostle, offers high attractions to 
a soul that is born of God, though it may serve to 
wither and blast the hopes which are nourished 
only by the sordid and carnal affections r>f the un- 
sanctified heart. 



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I propose, then, to improve the present occasion 
in contemplating, under a few of its many aspects, 
the one great truth which is revealed concerning 
the glorified state of believers — that they shall be 
like Christ. And I may here say, that in selecting 
this topic for our meditation at this time, I have 
been influenced by a desire not only to inspire the 
bereaved with the consolation which it is suited to 
impart $ but also to impress on the minds of us all 
the important reflection, that the only reliable evi- 
dence of our title to that state is to be derived 
from the present, moral resemblance we bear to 
Him, c who sitteth on the right hand of God.' 

In asserting for the sons of God a future like- 
ness to Christ, the true moral type of the heavenly 
community, the apostle will not be understood as 
discarding the idea of an existing likeness. Indeed, 
the idea of such a resemblance, at least in its incip- 
ient stage, is inseparable from the phrase " sons of 
God ;" and is in itself the ground on which the ap- 
plication of this language to believers is to be justi- 
fied. While he affirms an existing resemblance to 
Christ in his glorified state ; he would assure us as 
the most precious feature of the Christian's hope, 
that hereafter this resemblance shall be more entire 
in all its parts, more perfect, and glorious, than the 
eye has yet seen, or that has entered the heart of 
man to conceive. "We shall be like Him, for we 
shall sec Him as He is." 

In noticing some of the points in which this re- 
semblance will be manifested, I remark — 



I. That it will appear in the more perfect free- 
dom and activity given to our rational powers. — 
Mind, it will be conceded, constitutes the glory of 
man. It is here alone we seek for the image of 
the intelligent, wonder-working God. By virtue 
of mind and its high endowments, man claims do- 
minion over the earth, and exacts obedience and 
homage from irrational creatures. But how slug- 
gish is the action of this etherial element 5 how 
misdirected or utterly aimless are most of its ef- 
forts *, to what extent are its powers unemployed or 
wasted, while connected with the grosser element 
of the body ! If to the time that is consumed in 
necessary repose, we add all that is lost in admin- 
istering to the ever returning wants of the body, 
and in bearing its discomforts and pains 5 or that is 
wasted in sloth, or in pleasurable or visionary pur- 
suits ; how little remains, even from a long life, for the 
earnest, undivided application of its powers to its 
own appropriate ends ? But the time cometh when 
mind will assert its rights and true dignity, and make 
its own ends predominant *, when all present hinder- 
ances, and interruptions, and misguiding influences 
will cease to annoy. The redeemed before the 
throne are denominated 'the spirits of just men; 7 
even the bodies which they assume, are spiritual 
bodies, c for flesh and blood cannot inherit the king- 
dom of God. 1 This language of inspired men seems 
designed to teach us, that mind constitutes the ex= 
istence of glorified beings ; and that the very form , 
with which it is clothed, is adapted to its utmost 



8 



freedom and activity, as well as to its most success- 
ful efforts. In this state, no brooding cares or vex- 
ing anxieties will depress its powers; no vain dis- 
course or trifling thought interrupt its nobler pur- 
suits. No repose even will be required, save what 
change of employment may supply. The heavenly 
state is most often exhibited to our minds under the 
form of a life — a term which conveys the idea of 
ceaseless activity, of free, delightful occupation, 
and joyous emotion. Such a state as this we antic- 
ipate for glorified beings, because no other state is 
suited to our conception of the son of God — the 
Word that was made flesh 5 or to the nature and 
demands of our intellectual being. 

II. Glorified spirits will exhibit a more perfect 
resemblance to Christ in knowledge. The apos- 
tle clearly intimates that it is in limited meas- 
ures only that divine knowledge is imparted even 
to inspired men. l Now we know in part, and we 
prophesy also in part.' Whatever is needful to 
men in their present state, and, perhaps, all that is 
suited to their present capacity, is communicated 
through the divine AVord ; but the fountains of wis- 
dom and knowledge are not exhausted. The time 
however cometh, adds the same apostle, when 
"we shall know even as we are known.' 

If, as our Saviour teaches, believers in this life 
are sanctified through their knowledge of divine 
truth, and in jwoportion to the true knowledge of 
the Word to which they have attained; then by the 
same instrumentality, we may suppose, will the ho- 



9 



liness of heaven be consummated in their hearts. 
Indeed, this sentiment is distinctly announced in 
the text, u we shall be like him, for we shall see him 
as he is." Whatever then may, in this world, be 
thought of the maxim — 'ignorance is the mother of 
devotion' — we may rest assured that it has no au- 
thority in heavenly places. The perfection that is 
to be realized there, is not the result of any manip- 
ulations with beads, and crucifixes, and holy water, 
or the talismanic influence of prayers uttered ' in 
an unknown tongue 5' which, says the apostle, 
makes him who useth it 'a barbarian unto me.' — 
Ignorance can never enter into the constitution of 
the heavenly state ; — 'everywhere it is accounted 
an element of sin'' — 'alienated from the life of 
God through the ignorance that is in them.' 

The true designation of the Christ of God, is 
'the Word' — the infinite, underived reason — the 
light of an intelligent creation — the 'God mani- 
fested in the flesh,' 'in whom are hid all the treas- 
ures of wisdom and knowledge.' Such is Christ ; 
and his followers are to be like him — like him, it 
may be, only as the taper is like the sun ; but still 
light even as ' He is light.' ' But we all with open 
face, beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, 
are changed into the same image, from glory to 
glory, even as by the spirit of the Lord.' 

And how glorious the transition, when the soul 
is permitted to turn from the earthly medium, in 
which it has seen things darkly, to contemplate the 
truth face to face ! Yea, to sit down before the 



10 



heavenly Oracle and listen, while it titters forth the 
deep things of God. What questionings of the 
soul, in its present twilight state, will then be an- 
swered j what gloomy doubts resolved j what mys- 
teries unfolded •, what dark providencies, which 
once struck dumb the lips of believers and sent 
faintness into their hearts, will then be interpreted : 
and what harmony, and goodness, and beauty, will 
be seen to pervade all the designs and works of 
God! Christ, who knows it all, will teach it to 
His disciples \ and therein fulfil the promise He 
made to them on the earth — 'what I do, thou 
knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter.' 
III. There will be a more perfect resemblance 
to Christ in the whole aspect and symmetry of 
their character. Then will be corrected a sore 
evil, which in this world serves to mar the noblest 
specimens of christian developement, and to sup- 
ply to the depraved heart the occasion which it 
eagerly seeks, to fortify itself in infidelity. I do 
not intend it for a startling remark, when I say, 
that even the sanctification of believers, in the 
form and degree in which it exists here, furnishes 
a strong argument in support of the fallen and 
corrupt nature of man. This sanctification, so far 
as it is exhibited in this world, indicates the exist- 
ence of formidable obstructions to be overcome, 
of powerfully disturbing forces, which not only lim- 
it the extent to which the sanctifying process has 
been carried in any one direction ; but give, more- 
over, a disproportionate and even distorted appear- 



11 



Since to the whole. The influence of inborn pro- 
pensities, of early vitiated habits, of sinful indul- 
gencies, of false opinions long cherished — is most 
clearly to be traced in the characters of, perhaps, 
the holiest of our race. In the best of men we 
discover imperfections enough to convince us, that 
their original state was evil ; nay more, that their 
progress has been the fruit of earnest conflict — of 
a conflict, in which the victory was not always 
theirs. Here, an advantage has been gained, and 
there it has been lost. One virtue of the spirit has 
been cultivated with success, and meets the eye 
like an olive tree, vigorous and laden with fruit ; 
another is dwarfed and blighted like the heath in 
the desert. On this side, the field is hedged in and 
clothed with verdure and beauty; on that, it lieth 
waste and is smitten with sterility. 

But the moral beauty of Heaven appears not so 
much in the maturity of certain individual virtues, 
as in the developement and just proportion of all 
the graces of the spirit. The incongruity which 
so often meets the eye here, will not meet it 
there. The many infirmities which good men now 
have occasion to deplore, and over which the wick- 
ed exult, will not appear in Heaven. No virtue 
essential to a perfect character, will be wanting ; 
none will be excessive. In the character of Christ 
there is an assemblage of all possible virtues and 
graces 5 and yet, no one feature is obscured by an- 
other — the deficiency of no one is compensated 
by the exuberance of another 5 but the divine beau- 



12 



ty of the whole results from the perfection of each 
and every part. And herein the sons of God will 
be like their glorious type — "for they shall see 
Him as He is." There will be a most perfect love 
to God for what He is in Himself 5 an entire confi- 
dence in His government as holy, just and good ; 
an insatiable delight in his service and praise. An 
unqualified esteem, a confiding and ever growing 
affection for all holy beings, will pervade their 
hearts. No selfishness, no jealousy, no suspicion 
or envy, will disturb the harmony and peace of 
that world ; for no such jarring elements will be 
found in their great exemplar. There, too, will 
be cherished the spirit of an ingenuous, all-embra- 
cing benevolence. The sympathy, such as Christ 
feels in the sorrows and woes of the world they 
have left, they will feel. The progress of the 
great work of redemption on the earth — the con- 
flicts of the Church, in her militant state, her dis- 
asters and triumphs — will affect their minds, as 
they affect the mind of Christ. The joy that cir- 
culates among the angels of God when one sinner 
repents, will vibrate on their hearts also — for 'they 
shall be as the angels of God.' 

IV. Time will allow me to advert only to one 
more particular, to wit, that the saints will be like 
Christ in their exemption from the changes and 
trials incident to their present state. To similar 
trials and afflictions, even, Christ was subject while 
He abode in the flesh ; for ' He was tempted in all 
points like as we are' — c a man of sorrows and 



13 



acquainted with grief.' But from His work of toil 
and suffering He has ceased, and entered into His 
rest. And in this respect, helievers are to be like 
Him — ' there remaineth also a rest for the people 
of God.' 

The well-beloved Son of God was the subject of 
dark and mysterious events while He dwelt among 
men. His humble parentage, His poverty and pri- 
vations, the ungenerous and cruel treatment He 
received from those for whose welfare He came to 
suffer and die — offered to the mind such a suc- 
cession of misfortunes and disasters, as led those 
who had knowledge of Him, to exclaim, 'He is 
smitten of God and afflicted.' And He himself 
predicted that the disciple should be as his Master. 
Yes, the resemblance of believers to Christ ap- 
pears in their present state of humiliation, as it will 
in the future state of exaltation. Dark providen- 
ces attend them in this the house of their pilgrim- 
age. As a trial of their faith and patience, as a 
check to their wandering steps, as a means to re- 
claim them from their backslidings, and to make 
them meet for the heavenly inheritance — they are 
subjected to the discipline of afflictive providences, 
'till the time appointed of the Father.' It is 
4 through great tribulations we enter into the king- 
dom of Heaven.' 

But into that kingdom an abundant entrance 
will be administered to all <• who look for that bless- 
ed hope, even the glorious appearing of the great 
God and our Savior Jesus Christ.' And then the 



11 



painful and disastrous changes of our present state 
will be known only in remembrance 5 and they will 
be remembered only in praise of Him who came ' to 
deliver us from this present evil world.' There no 
voice will be heard to complain of the privations 
of poverty, or to say, C I am sick.' The heart will 
not feel the grief of disappointment, or the anguish 
of bereavement ; or taste the bitter cup of death. 
c The Lamb that is in the midst of the throne shall 
feed them, and shall lead them unto living foun- 
tains of water ; and God shall wipe away all tears 
from their eyes.' 

Such is the glorious state of life and experience 
into which, we are taught to believe, they do im- 
mediately enter who die in the Lord. They will 
be like Christ " when He shall appear," u for they 
shall see Him as He is": and the doctrine of Paul, 
the apostle, is, 'that to be absent from the body is 
to be present with the Lord.' 

To that state of rest, and peace, and fulness of 
joy, our thoughts ascend, unbidden, to seek the 
present and eternal abode of our departed, lamen- 
ted friend. Irreparable as the loss, we have sus- 
tained in his removal, may seem to us, we can 
hardly entertain a doubt, that, to him the event is 
unspeakable gain. The Christian character of the 
deceased is not one of recent formation : it has 
been subject to our inspection during a period of 
many years, and our observations have been made 
under all the lights and shades which time and 
passing events cast upon the lives of men. Its 



i5 



foundation, indeed, was laid in very early life, un- 
der the counsels and example of his venerable 
father, the Rev. Dr. Swift, then of Bennington ; 
a man, whom an experienced judge of character, 
the late President Dwight, ranked among the 
most judicious and useful of the New-England pas- 
tors. Under the paternal roof he imhibed those 
strong and enlightened views of divine truth, that 
high sense of honor and integrity, that profound 
respect for the word of God and the institutions of 
religion, that self-reliance, and firmness of purpose, 
that quick sensibility, that earnest, direct tone of 
utterance and action — qualities which could hard- 
ly escape the notice of any one, and which are 
suited, at first, to attract, and afterwards to nur- 
ture and adorn the Christian principle in the soul. 
His whole life, we may say, is an illustration and 
proof of the doctrine of holy scripture — that pa- 
ternal care, piously and judiciously employed, is 
seldom lost upon the offspring \ that the direction 
given to the child, determines the course of the 
man — that the sentiments impressed on the tender 
mind, and the habits to which it is trained, will be- 
come the chosen sentiments and the cherished 
habits of after life. 

Benjamin Swift, the fourth son of the Rev. 
Job Swift, D. D., was born in Bennington, April 
5th, 1781. At the time of his death, which occur- 
red suddenly, at Enosburgh, October 20th, 1804, 
Dr. Swift left behind him a family of seven sons 
and four daughters; of these, the subject of our 



16 



present notice was the third to be removed by 
death. The childhood and early youth of the de- 
ceased was spent at home and in those agricultur- 
al pursuits which, at that time, principally occupied 
the youth of our State. Having subsequently ob- 
tained a good academic education, he was enter- 
ed a student in the Law School at Litchfield, 
Connecticut, then under the direction of Judge 
Reeve. Being admitted to the Bar, he became 
connected in business with his elder brother, then 
in practice at Manchester, in this State. A short 
time after, he opened an office in this village 5 — 
where, by his talents and assiduity, his unquestion- 
ed probity and honorable deportment, he soon 
rose to a high reputation in his profession, and se- 
cured a large measure of the confidence and es- 
teem of the public. In 1827, he was chosen Rep- 
resentative of this district in Congress 5 which to- 
ken of public confidence was repeated at the en- 
suing election. In 1833, he was elected to the 
Senate of the United States for the term of six 
years 5 at the expiration of which period, he cheer- 
fully retired from public service to enjoy the quiet 
and cherished pursuits of private life. 

Some forty years have now transpired since the 
mind of the deceased assumed a decidedly Chris- 
tian aspect — when the truths of religion, which 
before were a matter of belief, became the inner 
life of the soul, and awakened within him those 
moral sensibilities which, we have reason to think, 
were never afterwards extinguished. The time 



17 



when this event occurred, as some present may re- 
member, was in no degree favorable, to one in his 
situation, for inducing religious impressions. In 
the absence of an organized religious influence and 
of the instructions of the sanctuary, and among a 
class of adventurers recently gathered from almost 
every quarter and devoted to the pursuits of gain 
or pleasure ; we can easily credit the voice of tra- 
dition in regard to the infamous state of public 
sentiment and morals. The legal profession, it 
would seem, was deeply infected with the infidelity 
and vices of the times. But the same independ- 
ent spirit, and resolute adherance to the convictions 
of his own mind, which the deceased exhibited in 
the later period of his life, were doubtless still more 
conspicuous while the fervor of early years was 
upon him. Regardless of the sneer that might 
assail him, or the unmanly insinuations with which 
his motives might be traduced, he openly avowed 
his religious sentiments by connecting himself with 
the Congregational Church, then in an incipient 
and depressed state. The position which he then 
assumed, together with the earnest and judicious 
appeals which he addressed to his friends and as- 
sociates, was instrumental of attaching other influ- 
ential names to the cause he had espoused, and of 
effecting a perceptible change in the moral aspect 
of society. From that time to the day of his death, 
his uniform Christian deportment justified the con- 
fidence reposed in him by the Church. At all 
times and in all circumstances he was found in his 



18 



place, and ready for every good word and work. 
In seasons of prosperity we accounted him among 
our joys ; and in days of gloom and darkness, we 
cast our eyes upon him, as upon a guiding light. 
In 1841 he was unanimously chosen one of the 
Deacons of the Church ; and oftener, perhaps, than 
any other member, he represented the Church 
in Ecclesiastical Councils — a field of usefulness for 
which his long experience, sound judgment, and 
keen discernment, pre-eminently fitted him. 

So uniform was his attendance on public worship 
and at the social, religious meeting, so interested 
his appearance on such occasions, and so ready to 
contribute to the edification of those present; that 
we must think his heart truly found delight in the 
ordinances of God and in the assemblies of His 
people. Though decided in his views of religious 
truth, and strong in his preference for the forms 
and discipline of his own Church, he was still free 
from the charge of an illiberal and narrow spirit. 
And so, too, though his religious impressions were 
of a deeply serious and solemn cast, was his mind 
cheerful and buoyant, and his feelings eminently 
social. That the prosperity of the Church of 
which he was a member, and the spiritual welfare 
of his friends and acquaintances, were interests that 
lay near his heart, no right-minded person will 
doubt. Who of us can doubt it, till we cease to 
remember his importunate supplications on our be- 
half, or forget the solemn, tender appeals to the 
impenitent, and especially to the youth, that have 



19 



burst from his lips ! Surely, it is not from those 
who knew him best, that his memory will ever be 
assailed with the charge of insincerity and cant. 

Did time permit and the occasion call for it, I 
might speak of the deceased in the various rela- 
tions of life — all of which were sustained in a 
manner creditable to himself and to the principles 
he professed. As a member of the Bar, he enjoy- 
ed the reputation of a sound and fair-minded law- 
yer. To the high, public stations in which he was 
placed by the suffrages of his fellow citizens, he 
carried an honest and patriotic heart, and faithfully 
devoted the powers of a well-practiced and clear- 
sighted mind to the public welfare. I might speak 
of him as the head of a family, over which he dif- 
fused the charm of domestic endearment, and of 
truly christian hospitality: — As a philanthropist, 
interested in all those charitable movements which 
contemplate the improvement and happiness of the 
human race; and liberal in their support: — As a 
citizen, upright and honorable in his transactions 
with men ; warm in his sympathies 5 free to impart 
aid and counsel to the needy and afflicted: — As a 
friend, open, confiding, steadfast — but these are 
things which those who know and appreciate his 
worth, will remember and speak of in future days. 

But while we lament the removal of one so gen- 
erally esteemed and beloved, as among the lights 
and ornaments of community, we cannot but no- 
tice how kindly and mercifully, as it regards him- 
self, the circumstances of the event were ordered. 



20 



In the enjoyment of perfect health lie was permit- 
ted to join his family in their morning repast ; to 
peruse, as was his daily custom, the oracles of 
heavenly truth $ and at the throne of all grace to 
commend himself and his, to the protection or dis- 
posal of God. Vigorous as in the mid-hour of 
life, with no trace of disease upon him, buoyant in 
spirit, his mental powers undecayed, unobscured — 
he sinks down in the open field, and with but a 
transient feeling of discomfort, sleeps in death ! 
Sure it was a gentle hand that led him away. No 
lingering confinement, no loathsome, torturing dis- 
ease, no long and gloomy anticipation of the last 
struggle, was reserved for him. 

But strangely merciful as was the event to him, 
it is still death to his, and death to us all — an 
event that has filled many a heart with grief ; and 
I would hope, impressed on all our minds the truth, 
that 'man knoweth not his time 5' and that it be- 
comes the living to watch and pray, ' for in such 
an hour as we think not the Son of man cometh ! ' 



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